open letter

Dear Celebrities (if you’re not currently in Barbados, the Bahamas, St. Barths, or anywhere else fabulous that incorporates a ‘B’, this doesn’t apply to you),
Yesterday we hauled our post-Christmas-bloated-round-the-edges bodies out of bed and braved the gale-force winds and sideways rain (= not a good hair situation), before cramming ourselves onto a train (face to armpit), that of course was delayed just to add to the joy, and shuffled reluctantly back into the office (which resembled a Quality Street graveyard, since no one could face clearing up after the staff party), and logged on to see what is happening in the world outside of our sofas, where we have been residing for the past week, and were faced with the following disturbing images:

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This is in sharp contrast to what I have resembled over the festive period:

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Whilst I’m sure you’re having a merry old time doing karaoke with Cowell and having jet ski races with Clooney, please spare a thought for the rest of us mere mortals, who have to put up with another month’s worth of these bikini snapshots whilst drinking kale smoothies and nibbling on cardboard Ryvita. I understand you can’t help the invasive paps, however you can help tweeting smug anecdotes such as this: “Weather is amazing today thinking about doing some waterskiing.” SERIOUSLY, Tamara Ecclestone?!
If you could maybe look a bit more miserable and perhaps opt for a burqini, that would be a massive help. And stop posting Twitpics of your feet at the end of a sunlounger.
Kind regards etc.

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